Justice
by HDDarkensaw
Summary: "The way I see it," said Ferb after a moment, "you have three options. Let me go, arrest me, or kill me. Either way, you and I will never see eachother again." FxPxBaljeet - Temp Hiatus, going through re-write
1. Prologue  303

General disclaimer on my profile page.

**WARNING:** This fic contains **GORE **and **SLASH**. It is rated **M** for a reason. I also destroy Ferb completely, break Phineas mentally, and fuck with Baljeet. This will **NOT** be a nice fic. Now that you are warned, here it is

303

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. Ahh… This is my first confession."

At first, Father Crater was surprised the man spoke at all. They had been sitting in the confession booth silently for at least ten minutes, but he gently shook himself and managed to respond. "It is alright, child. The Lord forgives all those who repent their sins."

The man laughed bitterly, as though he doubted he could ever be saved. "I highly doubt God," he said in his British accent, "or any deity for that matter would forgive what I have done, Father. Though I do repent every day… I have just done so much…" He trailed off into silence.

Crater felt his heart break at the tone and wanted, not for the first time in his life, to reach out through the screen that separated him from the confessors and offer some form of physical comfort. "I promise you, my boy, God will forgive you." He hoped the comfort of faith would be enough. It seemed to be, for the man let out another bitter laugh.

"The question is, father, will He forgive you?"

The breath caught in Craters chest. But no. There was no way the man could possibly know… That had stopped ten years ago, anyway. This man didn't look like he was old enough to remember any of the accusations placed against them, never mind bring them up now… He was British anyway, and the accent was strong. He probably wasn't even in the country at the time.

"You see, Father," said the man. "My sin is that I have killed. I have killed many people, all who deserve some sort of punishment, but have not paid for their crimes. Interest builds, Crater, does it not?" The man's head turned in the shadow of the confession box to face Crater. "You are to be number three hundred and three."

Every muscle in Crater's body froze, his brain locked before kicking into gear. He rose to flee but the man's hand punched through the screen and pinched his neck-

When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was the fact that he was not laying down. The second was that he had a splitting headache.

The third was that he was naked.

"Father Anthony Crater." Crater looked up, slowly opening his eyes to see the young man standing below him. He was dressed head to toe, literally, in black, in such a way that Crater could only see the man's nose and mouth, a mouth that wore a scowl. His head covered in a toque, his eyes by dark sunglasses, and even his hands were covered in dark leather. There was a bag open beside his feet, revealing what looked to be several sharp knives, a whip and other jumbled masses, obviously used for torture… Crater tugged his arms in a panic, trying to escape the ropes that bound him, twisting his feet to run away, but the knots held steady. He couldn't breathe through the gag fashioned out of his socks and his shirt, and calling for help barely sounded like a whisper. His mind raced, and he knew who the man was. The man the FBI had put warnings out for and had been attempting to find. They'd been after him for years.

The Justice Killer.

"You are hereby punished for the crime of sexually abusing young children, making no discrimination of gender, no less than twenty seven times, possibly more. For these crimes you are sentenced to death by-" He paused as Crater screamed, muffled thought he was, as though someone would come running. He screamed and tears ran down his face and blurred his vision, his body thrashed to please… please escape- "Death by torture. Hopefully your god can save you now."

The man, Justice, his face became blank, his hand raised to remove his sunglasses and his hat. It was odd to think, but Crater couldn't help thing that his brown eyes contrasted nicely with his green hair…

Other than pain, that was the last thought Father Crater had.

**AN:** OKAY! So, that's done. If you want to turn back now, then ok, that's cool too. This is really not for the weak at heart. I can't even believe this story exists in my head but here it is. I really will destroy them, I'm sorry…

If you want to continue, then stay tuned. Have fun, Good luck.

HD


	2. Home, home on the range

A/N: Wow! Lots of favorites and alerts! Thank you so much all Thanks for the reviews too

Since you've decided to stick around, then here is chapter one. Good luck.

Ferb sat quietly at the end of yet another Sherlock Holmes episode. This was becoming an obsession, the enjoyment Phineas took out of detective and crime shows. It had started simply with an episode of CSI here or NCIS there, but soon, Phineas was buying box sets and watching them constantly. All different series' of CSI, All seasons of NCIS, Life on Mars, 21 Jump Street, Cold Case, Criminal Minds; if it was a cop show, Phineas was all over it. His current obsessions were the old Sherlock Holmes episodes and The Mentalist.

Phineas, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh man, Ferb! Holmes is so cool! He's just like, genius! I so want to be like him, smart like that." He flopped onto the couch and sighed. Ferb privately thought that Phineas would make a great detective, but today's crime scene was more twisted than London a hundred and twenty years ago. Today it was more like CSI; shooting, drugs, gruesome murders… He shuddered. Not something Phineas would go for.

But Phineas frowned. "I mean, I read the news, I know it's worse these days than the sorts of simple crimes that went on back then. Maybe I'll be smart like Grissom! Or Mulder! Without the paranoia," he added with a breathy laugh. "You kind of have to be a cop now-a-days to do any sort of crime solving on the field. Well, unless you're Jane." Ferb blinked. He knew who all the characters were, but he could not, for once, see his brother's train of thought.

"I can't imagine shooting a gun at someone, though. Injuring them? Or ending their life? Just like that, one second, bam. I mean," he added thoughtfully, "I guess some people might deserve it, and I suppose you'd get used to it…" Phineas' eyes lit up in a familiar way, and for once, Ferb was slightly nervous about what was going to be said next. "Ferb! That would be so much fun! I know what we're going to do this weekend!"

Ferb raised an eyebrow. "Kill people?"

"Shooting range!"

Ferb let out a small sigh of relief. He wouldn't be able to stand it if Phineas killed someone, never mind getting caught and never seeing Phineas again… "A bit tame for our usual weekend activities," he pointed out, trying to steer Phineas' mind in a different direction. A shooting range was definitely a safer bet than going out and getting guns, but it was still a dangerous activity.

"Well, that's OK!" said Phineas, grinning. He grabbed Ferb's upper arm and tugged gently. "Let's go see if Dad will take us!"

Ferb let himself be dragged behind Phineas and ignored the tingle he felt where they touched. It was a long learned practice, this ignoring, for it had been a few years since Ferb had realized his feelings for his little brother. At first, he'd even been ignorant enough to believe he had a very long and random flu, a swoop in his stomach, his pulse speeding, his palms sweating, his face growing warm. The further Ferb investigated, though, he'd noticed that every reaction occurred when he was either with Phineas or thinking about him. When he focused on the past, he could even compare those feelings to the ones he felt for Vanessa, though magnified thousands of times.

As Phineas excitedly explained to their father what they wanted to do on the weekend, Ferb couldn't help feeling uneasy, but he ignored that. Ignoring, it was a skill.

"Alright, boys, seven shots each, then you pull the target to you to see how you did, kapeish?" Phineas nodded excitedly to the Range Master, Ferb's head moving slower but with no less understanding. "Now, take a few shots, but be careful. Until you're used to it, the backlash packs a wallop." Phineas grinned and turned to look at Ferb, who had to hold back a giggle. Phineas looked ridiculous with his goggles and noise mufflers around his neck. Neither boy wasted any time raising the mufflers and picking up their gun. No, Ferb didn't really want to do this at first, but seriously. A gun? Shooting at things? Yes please.

They aimed carefully and shot at nearly the same time. Of course, they both stumbled backwards at the same time too, and when Phineas recovered, he looked over at Ferb, his grin bigger than ever. It had been a rush, the point, click, boom, an exhilaration, and Ferb decided that this was going to be one of the more fun activities they'd done since their sixteenth birthday party a few months ago. And skydiving was no easy feat to beat for thrills.

Six shots later, the boys pulled the paper targets toward themselves and compared results. Phineas' target had seven bullet holes scattered around the rings in varying distances from the center. "Check it out, Ferb! I even got a bulls-eye!" Phineas kept the smile on his face as he looked over to Ferb's paper, the grin drooping slightly when he saw the paper. There was only one hole in the center and no other marks on the paper. "Well," he said shrugging "At least the shot that hit hit the middle." Ferb nodded. He was completely alright with Phineas being better at this than he. Only… He squinted and looked at the target closer. The one bullet hole looked slightly bigger than any of Phineas' holes, and with a closer look, Ferb discovered the shape. Several dents surrounded it, making the hole look more like a six petaled flower than a circle. Phineas leaned over to look closer as well, then whooped and punched Ferb lightly in the arm. "Look at that, Ferb! Seven bulls-eyes! Dad! Look at that!"

Lawrence moved forward from his observing distance to peer at Ferb's target. "Well, would you look at that! Dave, my boy here got seven shots in the same place!"

The Range Master came over as well and, once he'd examined the paper, clapped Ferb on the back and congratulated him on the best shooting he'd seen in years, if not ever. He presented Ferb with a form to fill out in order to enter tournaments. Ferb was unsure as he looked at the page before him, but filled it out with Phineas' and Lawrence's encouragement. As he was entering information, he overheard his father and Range Master Dave talking about the tournaments. "He could win thousands with an arm like that, he'd never need a job again!" Ferb smiled lightly. He hated his current retail job. Customers were always annoying, never listened to his fashion advice and always tried to confuse his cashing abilities. It never worked, but they continuously tried. If he could make enough money shooting a gun at a target, then he'd never work part time, minimum wage again.

The rest of their Saturday was filled with shooting guns and then going out for pizza on the way home. Ferb was already signed up for next weekend's tournament, Phineas had a blast and their father was proud of him. He considered the day a success.

After Ferb had won his first competition, he lived to compete and win. Eventually, when he'd turned eighteen, he was allowed to compete with professionals and win seriously big money. His grades never suffered, nor did his friendships, but Phineas had approached him on their eighteenth birthday party about his increasing indifference to most of his surroundings. Ferb had disagreed, pointed out that nothing had changed between them, internally feeling stronger for Phineas than ever before. But Phineas insisted; he'd been hired at the police station doing odd jobs just after the first time they went to the shooting range. Some of the officers had taken a shining to him and had started teaching some investigative techniques like facial expressions and vocal tones. Phineas had apparently been watching Ferb grow more and more distant from everything.

They hadn't spoken for two days after that. The second day was Ferb's first big competition and though frustrated with his brother, Ferb completely annihilated the shooters that had been practicing for years longer than he had.

That was when everything changed.

There was a man in a suit watching the competition and once Ferb had been presented with the cheque and stepped out of the lime light, he was cornered getting into his car.

Ferb leaned calmly against his car while he stared at the man in front of him. A suit and a fedora, sunglasses, they just stared at eachother. Finally the man became impatient enough to speak. "My name is Shawn. I am part of a special branch of the government dedicated to keeping crime off the streets in a different and better way than the metropolitan police do. We would like to recruit you into our ranks. You would be well payed and all of your work kept hidden. Officially you would be working for the government. Are you interested?"

Ferb raised an eyebrow. "What would I be doing?"

Shawn sighed slightly. "A job that never gets easier. The last man we had for the job killed himself because of the pressure twenty-five years ago and we have been looking for a new man ever since. You would be finding criminals that have escaped justice and ridding the streets of them. Crime bosses, rapists, killers that went on parole. These are the types of people that can afford bail, there is no evidence to back them up, or even those that have never been caught. It would be up to you to clean society of them. Will you do it?"

Ferb rested more against his car. What sort of a decition was that? Killing people for the government? Why would he ever-

"_I guess some people might deserve it, and I suppose you'd get used to it…"_ That was what this man was saying. Not innocent people that the government wanted dead but people who deserved to die. He blinked a few times before looking back up at Sawn and brushing his hair from his face.

Well? What do you think? If you want to stay on, then ok, onwards and upwards. It only gets worse from here on in.

PS: anyone want to check my gun laws for me? I placed them in Danville New York and checked the laws saying that kids as young as 14 can shoot at a shooting range but if you're from that state and correct me, I'd be most appreciated


	3. Interlude 1

IMPORTANT NOTE: This was really hard to write. I hate violence in any form and violence to children is one of, if not the worst form of abuse. I do not in any way condone acts of child abuse. Especially this kind

WARNING: Contains implications of child rape and physical and mental abuse

1

Samantha was Jerry's beautiful little girl. And even though she insisted her name was Melissa, Jerry knew she was just confused.

Like how Christina had thought her name was Terry.

Or Amanda had thought her name was Angie.

And Jerry was trying to tell Samantha (Melissa! My name is Melissa!) that shouting and crying was not going to do anything but make daddy mad. Christina and Amanda both thought that screaming and pushing and biting would make him stop, but they both learned very quickly and now they sat in the basement. If Samantha (Melissa... she says, tears falling) wanted to join her two sisters in the basement, then she could very well go.

"N-n-n-no" she said quietly. "P-please. I'm-m Sor-r-ry." And tears were still falling, but she was quiet. Jerry knew introducing her to her new sisters was a good idea. In fact, with every new addition to their family, he would do the same. Samantha was such a pretty girl

"Such a good, pretty girl," he whispered to her, petting her long, blond, curly hair. She started to shiver when his hand brushed her (soft, so soft, beautiful girl) cheek. She even went so far as to flinch away. Jerry grabbed her chin and forced her (green, bright) eyes to his. "When I give you a compliment," he said with a sharp tone, "you say 'Thank you, Daddy'" He stroked her cheek with his fingers and then grinned. "Such a _good_, pretty girl."

"Th-th-th-th" she was shivering again, and the flinching...

He pushed her tumbling away from him, halting the motion with a hand on her wrist before tugging her back to crack his other hand back across her cheek. "Samantha!" he cried. "Look what you made me do! I do _not_ like to hit. Now, you will show me some respect or you will force me to do that again. Do you want that?"

Samantha shook her head, pretty blonde curls falling everywhere, with a hand up to her cheek. She tugged at his hand, and he could see it. The same desperation that Amanda had before she went into the basement was in Samantha's moves and eyes. "Please," she said, so soft it was almost a whisper. "Please let me go."

"I don't think so, Samantha (Melissa Melissa Melissa...). You have behaved very badly, and daddy needs to punish you. I think I'll put you with your sisters until I'm ready to deal with you."

He dragged her kicking and screaming into the basement. A small space with leather straps was set aside for her beside Christina. The dark haired girl shrunk away as far as she could towards Amanda beside her. The girls tangled their legs together and turned their heads while Jerry fixed Samantha up with her own straps.

"Now," he said to the struggling girl "I'm going to go get everything ready while you wait here, then I'll come down and get you, my beautiful girl." He turned to head back up the stairs towards his spare room where the bed was set up, but there was someone standing in his way.

Jerry shouted, his voice making all three of his girls shrink in fear, but the man paid no heed. Instead, the man looked - _LOOKED AT HIS GIRLS_ - taking them in with his judging eyes, ignoring - _IGNORING_ - Jerry! This man would take his beautiful girls away from him - _NO!_ - and Jerry charged at him, to knock him down, to drive his head into the cement floor, to never let anything come between him and his girls to-

The barrel of a hand gun was immediately in vision, and before Jerry could register the loud crack of a bullet, he was dead on the floor.


End file.
